


A Queen Worth Fighting For

by Janina, mynameisnoneya



Series: At Her Majesty's Service [9]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Feels, Bitterness, Duelling, Emotional Hurt, F/M, Hatred, Heavy Angst, Jealous Jaime Lannister, Jealous Jon Snow, Jealousy, Jon Snow is a Mess, Love Triangles, Post-Canon, Post-Canon Fix-It, Rivalry, Sansa Stark is Queen in the North, Sarcasm, Swordfighting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:41:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27844660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Janina/pseuds/Janina, https://archiveofourown.org/users/mynameisnoneya/pseuds/mynameisnoneya
Summary: While the two men silently stare one another down, a curious hush descends upon the training yard.  The clatter of metal has ceased now that all eyes are watching them, everyone holding their breath in anticipation of what happens next.  Even Brienne and Podrick have halted their mock battle, both gaping at the scene as it unfolds.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Sansa Stark, Jon Snow & Sansa Stark, past Jon Snow/Sansa Stark - Relationship
Series: At Her Majesty's Service [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2002744
Comments: 27
Kudos: 73





	A Queen Worth Fighting For

**Author's Note:**

> This story is the ninth in the series, _At Her Majesty's Service_ , a collaborative effort by mynameisnoneya and Janina. It can be read on its own, but we recommend reading it after the other eight previous works to help it all make sense!
> 
> Please note that we made sure to tag any and all characters that appear in this work, whether they have a speaking role or not.
> 
> General disclaimer: GoT characters and quotes belong to GRMM - we own nor claim nothing!
> 
> If you enjoyed this work, please let us know by leaving comments and kudos!

_”They’re beautiful,” Sansa says, a sweet rosy color flushing her cheeks while she gazes upon the handful of freshly picked wildflowers._

_“Not nearly as beautiful as you, my lady,” Jon tells her as she accepts his gift, and when she smiles at him in return, there’s a wonderment fluttering in her bright eyes which gives her cousin all the encouragement he needs. “May I ask you something, Sansa?”_

_“Certainly.”_

_Steeling his nerves, he clasps his gloved hands behind him and clears his throat before he continues. “I was hoping that you would do me the honor of escorting you to the feast tonight. That is . . . if no one else has asked you, of course.”_

_Her eyes blow wide upon hearing his question, but only a second or two of silence passes before she’s smiling from ear to ear. “I appreciate you asking me, Jon, truly I do, but I believe that under the circumstances, it’s best if I go of my own accord.”_

_His face falls but he catches it quickly, the slight creases around his eyes crinkling when he smiles. “I understand. But I do hope you’ll at least allow me one dance tonight. I promise not to step on your toes too badly.”_

_She laughs aloud at his jest, placing a soft hand on his shoulder. “Of course, I will. I’d love to dance with you regardless of where your boots may land.” Then without warning she leans toward him, placing a soft, tender kiss on Jon’s cheek. “See you tonight.”_

_As she curtsies then walks past him toward the Great Hall where she will oversee the final preparations for tonight’s feast, he smiles like a child given the present they’ve longed to receive, gently stroking the place where her lips seared his flesh._

_(end flashback)_

_The Seven be damned if that boy doesn’t think he’s won,_ Jaime grumbles to himself as he stomps toward the training yard, muttering a string of curses under his breath and flexing the fingers of his good hand now that the itch to punch something has returned.

He hadn’t meant to spy on the pair from his vantage point around the corner, truly he hadn’t. He’d been on his way to check on Sansa, intent on asking her if she needed his assistance while she finalized preparations for tonight’s feast, which she’d planned to help bolster relations with the lords of the north. He’d already put in countless hours over the last few weeks to fulfill her dreams of a regal, stately affair, personally overseeing every minute detail to ensure her happiness. He’d do anything for her, anything all, no matter how small or mundane the task.

Yet on his way to speak with her, he’d spotted Jon and Sansa together in the hall outside her chambers, the younger man eagerly doing his best to be charming. It rankles him to the core that Jon’s efforts to steal Sansa away from him are taking root. When he’d begun his campaign to win Sansa’s heart. Jaime had imagined it would be a rather easy endeavor to prove he was the more worthy suitor. Jon’s perpetually pouty disposition had been a consistent source of frustration for Sansa, and thanks to the way he’d handled things with the dragon queen, Sansa’s trust in her cousin had not yet fully recovered. 

And that is exactly why Jaime had chosen to be brutally honest with her before he consented to bed her at her request. He’d already spent a lifetime entangled in a web of deception and deceit. He would not make the same mistake again, which is why he was completely candid about his past, including the truth about what he’d done to her little brother all those years ago. 

His confession had both shocked and appalled her as it should have, and he wagered she’d soon throw him out into the snow or worse yet, give Bran his head as a trophy. It was his turn to be shocked, however, when after much deliberation, she insisted that he must apologize to Bran, who miraculously offered him pardon for his crime because of the courage and bravery he’d shown during the Battle of Winterfell. It wasn’t long after he’d spoken with Bran that Sansa also forgave him, telling him that the Jaime Lannister she knew wasn’t the same man he was the day his family strode through the gates of Winterfell all proud and haughty.

 _“I’ve forgiven you, Jaime,”_ she said as they stood alone in the quiet of the Godswood, “ _for_ _if I do not, what then? I’ll be left with only hatred and bitterness inside my heart, and I will not live like that. I refuse to remain a victim of the past.”_

As Sansa’s words haunt him, Jaime makes his way toward the courtyard, and his foul mood worsens with each and every step. He ignores both the polite curtsies from the female servants tittering in the corridors as well as the polite greetings from the lords walking by who’ve traveled in early for tonight’s extravaganza. In a huff he brushes past all of them, too busy stewing on what he witnessed transpire between Sansa and her cousin to care about common civilities. 

He can’t stand how fast Jon sniffed out what is going on between his cousin and her lover, especially now that Jaime is no longer traipsing about the castle in the wee hours of the morning after leaving her chambers for his own. The self-imposed space he’s given Sansa so she has time to make her choice has backfired. It has given Jon the foothold he’s needed to worm his way back into her good graces. The man has stepped up his game as of late, and it terrifies Jaime that it appears to be working.

Gods but he wanted to smack that satisfied smile off Jon’s face while he stood there in the hallway, watching after his cousin as she made her way to the Great Hall. Jaime doesn’t need a woods witch’s prophecy to tell him what Jon was thinking. He was thinking he is _thisclose_ to winning Sansa’s affections and that after tonight, he just might be handed the keys not only to her heart but to her chamber door as well. 

Bursting through the gates leading into the training yard, Jaime’s jaw locks while he storms past the group of young men practicing their sword skills on the row of training dummies. He heads straight for Brienne, who is working with Podrick one-on-one. The giant woman is giving the boy quite a fit today, making him dance around the dirt like a puppet.

“Wench!” he calls out as he approaches, purposefully addressing her with that wretched nickname in hopes she’ll give it to him hard today.

“Jaime!” Brienne shouts as she wheels around, the clash of steel ringing in the air when she effortlessly parries Pod’s attempt to strike. “What do you want?”

“I need a good fight,” he shouts in return, “and you’re the only one worthy of my efforts!”

“Ungh!” she cries out as her blade slams into Podrick’s, but the young man holds his own. “Good! Again!”

As Brienne continues sparring with her pupil, Jaime is miffed beyond belief that she’s ignoring him. “Didn’t you hear me? I said, I want to fight!”

“Get in line, then!” she bellows right before her opponent tries a sneak attack from the side.

Brienne continues to train with Podrick, and Jaime unleashes a weighted sigh of utter exasperation while standing there all alone. He’s desperate to release the rising rage bubbling inside him yet unable to do so.

“I’ll fight you,” he hears Jon call out to him from behind.

A moment passes where Jaime remains motionless, the sheer audacity of his rival’s offer grating his very last nerve.

“Unless, of course, you’re not prepared.”

An angry smile slides across Jaime’s face as he slowly turns around. “Oh, I’m prepared, all right. I was prepared before you were even a twinkle in your father’s eye. You’re _real_ father’s eye, that is.”

Jon’s gray eyes narrow. “You’re fairly confident for an old man who’s lost his sword hand.”

“I can hold my own, boy.” Jaime scoffs. “Did you not see me while I helped protect your ancestral home? Oh, wait. Of course, you didn’t. You were too busy dallying about with your crazy little woman’s fire-breathing pet to notice.”

His smile deepens when Jon’s jaw tightens. 

“I thought you were looking for a fight, Kingslayer, or have you instead decided to run your mouth all day as usual?”

“Ah, yes. ‘Kingslayer’. . .” Jaime says, the derogatory moniker he’s carried for years seeping out of his mouth. “How original.” He steps with purpose toward Jon, gripping the pommel of his sword while he approaches.

“It’s what you are, like it or not.”

When Jaime is a mere arm’s length away, he hovers over his challenger, trying to use the difference in their height as a means of intimidation, but the younger man stands still as a statue, completely unfazed by the much taller man’s proximity.

“We can change, though, can’t we?” Jaime asks. “We can leave behind the past and reinvent ourselves if only we desire it. At least, that’s what your cousin has taught me.”

Jon growls. “Leave Sansa out of this.” Still he doesn’t back down.

“Isn’t she the reason you’re here?”

“I’m here because it’s high time someone knocked you on your pompous arse.”

While the two men silently stare one another down, a curious hush descends upon the training yard. The clatter of metal has ceased now that all eyes are watching them, everyone holding their breath in anticipation of what happens next. Even Brienne and Podrick have halted their mock battle, both gaping at the scene as it unfolds.

Jaime grins. He’s been waiting for this moment far too long to not enjoy it.

“You know what? I just had a thought. If killing your grandfather makes me a kingslayer, then what does killing your aunt make you? A queenslayer?”

Gasps of awe and disbelief resonate throughout the training yard.

Jon’s hold on his sword tightens, his whole body coiled and ready to spring. “Draw your sword and fight already!”

“You first,” Jaime says with a wink.

In a metallic flash Jon’s sword is unsheathed and swinging through the air. Jaime leaps to the side, and as it descends it barely misses his left arm. He yanks his own sword out of its scabbard, wielding it in self-defense as Jon attacks. Strike after strike, blow after blow, Jaime withstands everything that Jon delivers, and it pleases him to no end that the younger man is growing angrier by the minute.

“Had enough?” Jaime yells when Jon lowers his sword for a moment.

“I should be asking you that, old man!” Suddenly Jon whirls around in a circle and attempts to land a hit with all the force he can muster.

Jaime smiles, dodging the blow, but just barely. “You’ve trained hard, I can tell. You’re much better than I gave you credit for.”

“Do you _ever_ shut up?” Jon snarls as he wields his weapon yet again.

Jaime laughs when he parries the strike, a move which only serves to irritate the younger man even further.

“Fight me, damn you!” Jon screams. “Stop holding back!”

“If you insist.” Jaime hesitates no further, launching at Jon while swinging his sword overhead as hard as he can, but the younger man easily halts the blow mid-air. Annoyed, Jaime charges forward, swiping at Jon once, twice, three times, yet each strike Jon easily deflects. A full minute passes while Jaime tries to gain ground, the pair panting hard as Jaime seeks to divest Jon of his weapon. The tension in the training yard is at a record high while the two men seek to defeat one another, and unbeknownst to them, the intensity of their struggle has Brienne sending Podrick to find Sansa.

With one final assault, Jaime gives it his all, but when Jon braces himself for the onslaught, they wind up face to face, swords crossed, each man determined to come out victorious.

“Good form, Jon. Very impressive,” Jaime says through ragged breaths, his tone reflecting his insincerity.

“I don’t need you to tell me that,” Jon answers in between puffs.

Jaime smirks. “You’re lucky we didn’t meet like this when I still had my hand.”

“I wish we’d never met at all.”

In an unexpected move, Jon roars as he shoves Jaime with his shoulder, pushing with everything he has left to give. Momentarily caught off guard, Jaime stumbles, the sheer power of Jon’s thrust unsettling his stance, and to his consternation, Jon manages to knock his sword to the dirt. He lunges for his weapon, but it’s too far out of his reach to grab.

“Stand down!” Jon barks as he points his sword toward Jaime, who stops dead in his tracks. Jon looks absolutely feral, his lungs pumping fast and his dark, sweaty curls dangling in his eyes and sticking to his forehead where they’ve loosened from their tie. In that moment, there is no doubt in Jaime’s mind that Jon will run him through and be rid of him if he refuses.

“Are you deaf as well as crippled?” Jon shouts as he kicks Jaime’s sword even further out of reach. “I said, stand down!"

Jaime’s green eyes are mere slits. His guts are on fire and his body aches from the exertion. If he were a younger man, he’d have made short work of the upstart, but he’s older now, fighting with the only hand he has left. Jon is younger and faster, his sword hand still on its wrist where it belongs.

“Last chance, Kingslayer.” The corner of Jon’s mouth lift in amusement now that he’s won. “Stand. Down.”

Calculating the risk, Jaime glances at the ground where his sword rests. He needs to distract Jon if he hopes to win. “You’re bluffing,” he says.

“Try me,” Jon replies.

“No, you’re bluffing, all right.” He’s pleased when his comment irritates his opponent. “You wouldn’t dare hurt Sansa by killing the man she loves.”

Jon snorts. “You’re an even bigger fool than I thought if you think for one minute that she loves you.” Jon takes a few steps closer, so close that his boot is almost touching Jaime’s foot. “She’s just using you to get back at me, and that’s all.”

Jaime tuts at his rival. “My, my, but don’t you think highly of her.” He enjoys the way Jon’s nostrils flair.

“You’ve lost, Kingslayer,” Jon continues, raising his blade until the tip is almost touching Jaime’s chest. He snorts again, although this time, it’s one of satisfaction. “Say that you’ll pack your belongings and leave here for good, and I will let you live.”

“And if I don’t?”

Jon pushes the pointy end into Jaime’s leather jerkin. “I get to do what my father – my _real_ father, Eddard Stark – wanted to do but couldn’t.”

“Jon, no!” they hear Sansa shouting as she races down the steps leading to the training yard with Podrick following closely behind. “Don’t!”

“Sansa?” Jon is distracted as he peers over his shoulder, and Jaime uses the moment to his advantage. His golden hand meets Jon’s chin, and the younger man howls as he falls backward and lands on his bum. Blood trickles out of Jon’s mouth, oozing through the fingers of his gloves while he clasps his mouth and moans in agony.

“Your _real_ father, Eddard Stark, was worth ten of you,” Jaime hisses. He turns away, trudging over to where his sword lies in the dirt, and as he stoops to collect it, Sansa is on the scene, kneeling by Jon.

“What in the name of the old gods has gotten into you two?” she shouts. The anger and confusion are written all over her face while she tugs at Jon’s hand to make him lower it. “Are you trying to kill each other?” When her cousin obeys, he spits a glob of blood onto the ground and glares hard at Jaime.

“Just a little friendly sparring, my lady,” Jaime tells her as he wipes the blade on his breeches and sheathes it. “No harm in that.”

“It didn’t look friendly,” she says, her ginger brows almost touching as she assesses the damage to Jon’s lips.

“Of course, it was. Right, Jon?”

Jon winces in pain when Sansa touches him. “Sure. Right. We were just practicing is all.”

Sansa scowls at him then back at Jaime. “Perhaps the two of you should not to be so friendly next time.”

“Anything for Your Grace,” Jaime replies as he dips into a deep bow. “And now, if you’ll excuse me, I believe I’ll head to my quarters and remove some of this dirt and grime before I show my face at the banquet tonight. Am I dismissed?”

Heaving a heavy sigh, Sansa shakes her head. “Yes, of course, but please do see to the Queensguard and make sure they are ready for their duties tonight at the feast.”

“Certainly, Your Grace,” he says as he rises to his full height. For the first time since he entered the courtyard, Jaime glances around him. The young squires are slack-jawed, all wide-eyed and stupefied by what they’ve witnessed. Podrick appears equally as shocked, yet Brienne appears unfazed by his behavior, and to her credit, she is grimacing at him like always. He smiles at her and nods, tacitly thanking her for not interfering in his scuffle with his adversary.

As Jaime pivots on his boots to head out of the courtyard, his smile grows as deep as the snow drifts outside the castle walls.

 _Sansa will decide who wins her heart,_ he thinks to himself as he exits. _Not you, Jon. Not I. Not your bloody sword or your bloody lip, either._


End file.
